


press your space face close to mine

by singagainsoon



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Not Pacific Rim: Uprising (2018) Compliant, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-13
Updated: 2018-08-13
Packaged: 2019-06-26 16:01:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15666537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/singagainsoon/pseuds/singagainsoon
Summary: When Newt, resident sexy scientist, gets stranded on a strange planet, he has to find a way to get his ship repaired. Whether or not his methods are conventional remains to be seen.





	press your space face close to mine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [feriowind](https://archiveofourown.org/users/feriowind/gifts).



> i had SO MUCH FUN writing for ferio's sexy scientist newt au !!! maybe i got a little carried away but i had such a good time with this! as always, find me on twit @ kaijubf

It really is just Newt’s (terribly unfortunate) luck that his ship decides to sputter to a sudden halt and go hurtling as top speed through the atmosphere of a little bluish-green planet. He’s lucky that he wasn’t further away, wasn’t suspended higher in its dense atmosphere or he, himself, might have sustained some serious damage instead of just the ship. When he manages to extract himself at last from the steaming pile of metal that used to be his spacecraft, manually overriding the door’s emergency security lock and coughing through the smoke, he’s disappointed to find that the casualties aren’t all just cosmetic. He’s definitely going to need some new bits for the overheated engine, the mangled landing gear is for certain going to need replacing, and the fritzing wires beneath the main control panel are going to require a decent amount of inspection. 

This was not at all the way Newt was projecting that his day might go. 

He is smart, of course - very much so, in fact; but Newt doesn’t know quite enough about ships and their intricate mechanisms to be able to make much sense of the mess he’s been presented with. He frowns, his eyebrows creasing in the middle, and plants his hands on his hips. It’s not a big ship by any means: there is room enough for his modest living quarters and workspace, for his lab and the equipment that he needs, so it does not appear to have left too large a crater in the ground where it hit. So Newt supposes that’s good.

He’s fine, and that, too, is good, of course; the specimens he collected on his last excursion are thriving and will also be fine, and he _ is _ grateful that it’s his poor ship that got the worst of it and not he, himself; but realistically, he’s the farthest thing from a mechanic. Biology and chemistry are his fields of expertise- poking around in the innards of a ship rather than the viscous guts of a Kaiju makes him sweaty just to think about.

The planet seems nice enough, at least, with its vibrant, swirling sky and fine, sandy soil; the air is breathable and thankfully doesn’t require that he bring his respirator or his helmet along. All factors aside, the weather borders on balmy, and the thought consoles him a little as he picks a general direction to set off on in search of some help. Assistance never appears to be too far away, if Newt’s experiences are anything to judge by. He knows plenty of languages, he’s good with all sorts of lifeforms (alien and otherwise) - he’ll be fine! 

 

* * *

By the time Newt stumbles at long last into the first neon-tinted suggestions of a town, he’s hungry and absolutely parched, he hasn’t happened upon a single new plant specimen, and on top of it all, his feet ache in his tall, heeled boots. Perhaps they were hardly the best choice for walking in, but it’s not like he started his day expecting to crash. His bag slaps his thigh as he goes, the little shape of his recorder inside hitting him. Newt hasn’t even had cause to use it which, really, is quite a disappointment. It isn’t often that he ends up on a planet with nothing new to report. He wanders aimlessly down the street, not missing the appreciative glances a few unfamiliar beings toss his way from the other side of the street as they pass. He smiles brightly and continues on, perusing the signs suspended overhead. 

_ HOTEL _ , says one, and another - green and flickering though one section doesn’t light up anymore - looks like it might be  _ CASINO _ , but Newt isn't quite sure. He’s much better with spoken languages than written, and deciphering burnt out signs beyond the basics is more than he has the energy for.

Above him, blessed relief comes in the form of a flashing pink sign tacked to the front of a tall, glimmering building. The street around it reflects in the glass panes that stretch from the sidewalk to the faintly glowing pyramid shape atop of the building, and Newt catches a glimpse of his own scantily-clad figure staring back when he tilts his head up to read the sign proclaiming “BAR” in several different languages.

Newt pushes the large door open and steps inside. It is hot and a bit stuffy, but the atmosphere is welcoming enough. The bar itself stretches along the back of the room, past the multicolored square that constitutes the crowded dance floor, its glass counter catching the lights that pulse in time with the music that fills the space almost tangibly. He grins a little, crooked and utterly charming, seating himself daintily at the bar and crossing his legs. The bartender watches him, eight beady eyes flickering over his tattoos with more than a casual interest. They are tall and gangly, two sets of gossamer wings folded neatly across their hunched back. Newt drums his fingers on the counter and smiles wider, painted black nails clicking against the glass.

“What’ll it be?” The bartender asks at long last, resting their chin in a long-fingered hand, studying Newt unabashedly. Their skin looks green in what shifting light there is, the prominent knobs of their angular joints more insect in nature than anything else. Their second set of arms is folded beneath the first, and Newt thinks that must be incredibly convenient for mixing drinks. All eight eyes blink at Newt at once, waiting.

_ God, they’re cute. _

“Surprise me!” Ordinarly Newt might ask for a name or strike up a friendly conversation, but he really cannot afford to get sidetracked when his ship is sitting in a steaming little heap or metal miles away. The bartender turns away from him momentarily before presenting Newt with a tall, curved glass of bubbling liquid. It tingles his nose when he puts his face near it and looks like something he might have made accidentally with a chemistry set as a kid, but he takes a sip and doesn’t feel the need to scrunch up his face in delicate distaste. “Wait- While we’re here, do you by chance know any mechanics? Or anybody that knows anything about ships? I crashed here earlier, and I-”

The bartender considers it for a moment, then shakes their head, and Newt’s heart sinks just a little. Maybe he’ll be better off exploring the streets and asking people there. His stomach growls. “I’m no mechanic. Ya might have a bit of luck out there, though. Lotsa riff raff out there,” they say, pointing a finger in the direction of the dancefloor behind Newt. There are enough people out there, all silhouettes of various shapes and sizes and species, that there might be some glimmer of hope, after all. Newt nods his thanks (and uses the last of his universally-accepted Galactic Union credits to leave a nice tip) before hopping off his barstool, drink in tow, to squeeze himself into the thick of the crowd. 

The song is one he's never heard, but the rhythm thumps through the soles of his shoes, through his body, and he nods his head to the beat. Rejuvenated by the pleasant tingle that his drink leaves in his throat, Newt sways his hips a little and squints his eyes, attempting to pick a likely candidate from the sea of people. Plenty of them certainly look strong enough, even more of them are tall and vaguely stocky, but it’s all a bit overwhelming. 

“Lookin’ for someone?” The deep, gravelly voice that tickles Newt’s ear startles him and he whirls around, only to be encircled in the cool grasp of rough, sinewy arms. Two pairs of narrow yellow eyes peer down at him, all four rimmed in silver glitter, and the light catches a wide, pointy smile. 

“Oh, hello there! Actually, I'm in the market for a- I'm looking for someone that can help me,” Newt explains, shouting over the music and leaning up on his tiptoes. He still doesn't reach. “I’m not from here, and there's something weird with the wiring in my ship. It just started acting up out of nowhere.”

The stranger moves his body with Newt’s, rests his big hand on the delicate small of Newt’s back to tug him ever-closer. The loose fabric draped across his broad shoulders looks like the tail of a comet, and Newt isn’t sure how he’d missed him before. He smiles as though perhaps he’d misunderstood, or hadn't heard what Newt said, and pulls Newt’s small figure against the solid shape of his chest. His reptilian features are scaly and sharp-looking and send a thrill rolling through Newt like an electric shock.

“Not much of a specialist, m’self, but I think I could work something out for ya.” Newt brightens, flashes his handsome savior a winning smile as they sway. “I got a friend who knows his way around ships, and I can do a thing or two about yer faulty wires. How’s that sound?”

“It sounds perfect! You’re really saving my life here! I… I don't have any money, though- not money that would work here, anyway. I spent the last of my credits on my drink.”

The realization hits him hard, makes his stomach flip anxiously. He’s alone on a strange planet with no money and no way to get back home. He should be scared, but he isn’t. The alien rakes his eyes over Newt, over the tattoos that peek teasingly from beneath the thin fabric that comprises his outfit, over his big green eyes and his pouting lips set in a frown, and makes an exaggerated humming sound. “That's too bad: sweet lil’ thing like you so far away from home.”

He hesitates a moment before he loosens his grip, makes as though he intends to walk away and leave Newt standing there in the crowd, but Newt stops him with a hand against his middle. “ _ Wait!  _ Don’t go. I can pay you another way, if you want.”

“Oh?”

“With my body?” He suggests without so much as batting an eye, not missing the people in their vicinity that turn to look at him, to listen as best they can over the thrum of the music. “I’ve done it plenty of times before! We can negotiate, maybe? Like a- like a barter and trade kind of thing? You come look at my ship and decide how much work needs to be done-”

He grins, once more exposing long teeth, some gold plated and shinier than the others, that make Newt shudder in spite of the thick heat.

“We'll have to talk to J’aaq about that, but I think it'll do just fine,” he all but purrs, bending to loop his arm securely around Newt’s waist and escort him through the writhing, glittering crowd.

J’aaq, as it turns out, is even bigger than his friend but just as reptilian, sprawled impressively across the length of a velveteen couch tucked in a dark corner of the bar. A thick gold ring sits in his nostrils, and his slit pupils only two eyes, he notes) grow wide when his stare settles on Newt. He doesn't look like a mechanic, or like anyone with any sort of substantial knowledge of the inner workings of spacecraft, but Newt greets him with a smile and a wave anyway, suppressing the pleasant shiver that tickles his spine at the apparent lust in J’aq’s eyes. He can't help himself: he turns a bit to one side as though he’s looking back out into the crowd, lets his skin tight little outfit shimmer faintly beneath the lights. If J’aaq makes any hum of approval, Newt doesn't hear it over the heavy  _ thump _ of the music.

“What do we got here?” He asks, shifting his position on the couch, spreading his long legs further. His sharp claws drum against his thigh idly, and Newt swallows hard. 

“Your friend told me you could help me. My ship-”

J’aaq shakes his head, takes a long swig of his drink, and Newt frowns. He nurses his own drink, sips at the foamy froth that has collected at the bottom of the glass. Maybe this was a very,  _ very _ bad idea.

_ Is that a “no”? _

He waves his hand, motioning for Newt to come closer. He can hear just fine, and Newt knows it's all just an act to coax him ever closer, but he obliges and perches delicately on the couch beside J’aaq. He's tall and imposing, even sitting down, and the scaly plates of his skin are so dark they look nearly black. His charm most certainly isn’t lost on Newt, and he scoots a little closer to him on the sofa, the velvet upholstery soft on his mostly-bare skin.

“Poor darlin’,” J’aq says finally, his voice a gravelly rumble. His gaze hasn't left Newt’s tattooed thighs since he started talking.

“I crashed a few miles away,” Newt continues, frowning. “There was all this steam, and I’m pretty sure something’s up with the wiring. It was sparking when I opened up the control panel. I don't actually, uh, have any money; but if you'll fix my ship, I can pay you in company for the night? I don’t mind sharing.”

Newt feels like it’s always a gamble, offering himself, even when they appear interested; but everyone is usually so kind to him! The offer seems to pique J’aaq’s gathering interest, and he glances over Newt’s head to where his friend still stands behind him. “What d’ya think, D’jo?” 

The other reptilian being (D’jo, Newt figures, glancing over his shining bluish scales) folds his arms across his chest and smiles not unkindly at Newt. He’s trying to play cool, to come off collected and aloof, but neither of them are doing a terribly good job at fooling Newt. D’jo’s wide, sharp smile catches the multicolored lights. “I think it's a fair trade.”

 

* * *

As it turns out, the damage to the ship is fairly minor, all things considered: a few loose cables, a blown fuse, some crumpled landing gear easily replaced. Newt’s scaly saviors insist on taking the time to repair it before gratefully accepting their payment. It's hard not to laugh a little, standing at the check-in desk between the two large, bulky aliens, at how silly the trio must look. But to tell the honest truth, Newt is excited. The whole thing thrills him, and they certainly seem nice enough, making idle chit chat as they ride the elevator to the fifth floor where the room they rented sits waiting. On the ride up, he wonders briefly if maybe he ought to offer something else to cover the cost of the room, though he can't possibly imagine what more he has to offer beyond a meal or drinks back in the little dining area of his ship.

At least, he thinks to himself, the room is not terribly extravagant. The bed is big enough, certainly, and it’s clean. The window on the far wall offers a nice view of the surrounding area, all tall buildings and bright signs and big hologram projection billboards suspended amongst the clutter. The city pulses beneath them, alive and thrumming in time with Newt’s excited heart. The anticipation that has been building in the pit of his stomach since they’d gotten into the elevator flutters like a tiny bird. 

He turns to his partners for the night, licks his lips, clasps his hands together in preparation to ask where they’d like to start, but he finds it a little difficult to focus with two sets of (large) hands exploring him.

“Better close the curtains,” J’aaq mutters, planting a series of almost-bites down Newt’s neck. Newt shakes his head, tilts to one side to offer his throat for further attention. 

“W-we can, ah, leave them open.”

“Ya want everyone to see what a filthy lil’ thing ya are, aye?” 

Newt moans against the teeth at his bare throat, nods his head a little. That is precisely what he wants. J’aaq grabs a generous handful of Newt’s ass, and D’jo teases his nipples through the straps of fabric that constitute the top of his outfit. He is torn between sticking his chest out further into D’jo’s teasing hands or shoving the ample curve of his ass at J’aaq. Either option sounds like a wonderful idea. “Yeah, yeah that’s what I-  _ oh _ , eager, huh?  _ Ooh,  _ do that again.”

It is D’jo that closes the distance and kisses him on the lips first, opening his toothy maw to cover Newt’s mouth in a kiss far gentler than he would have imagined a creature with so many very sharp teeth is capable of giving. A big hand covers the curve of his back, and the pointed tips of D’jo’s claws needle the bare skin there. Newt shivers. He's only a little nervous, tense and pulled tight like a quivering bow string but in the most exciting way. D’jo’s long, wet tongue is forked and flickering against Newt’s own, and the familiar heat of arousal pools quickly in his belly, between his hips. He should be scared, at least a fraction of him really ought to be just the slightest bit cautious, but he isn't. He wraps his arm around the thick column of D’jo’s neck to draw him closer, tilts his head and allows himself to be kissed right into the pillows and pressed firmly into the feather-soft mattress. His clothes don't last long - Newt removes them himself, so as to avoid either of his companions’ claws tearing them, and at the sight of Newt, naked except for his technicolor tattoos and his thigh-high boots, both aliens give low, appreciative groans. 

Newt allows himself to be guided carefully to his knees at the edge of the bed, allows the presentation of an erect cock, rife with ridges and bumps and little scaly patches for his careful inspection. He is fascinated, of course, by its appearance, and most definitely aroused. His own dick is already hard, standing stiff and brushing against his stomach when he makes himself comfortable. Newt is grateful not to be confined by his tight shorts any longer, even though the sensation of fabric on flushed, eager skin might have been nice, convenient to rub himself on. 

He reaches forward to wrap both hands around D’jo’s length the best he can and give a few slow, experimental strokes. D’jo sighs above him. He places his sharp hand on the back of Newt’s head to nudge his face closer, and Newt glances up at the towering shape of him through the fan of his eyelashes. D’jo is watching him, lizard-slit pupils blown wide. The blush that colors Newt’s cheeks is pink and warm. Newt gets the idea. He drags his tongue carefully along the underside of the erection that grazes his face and leaves a bead of precome on his cheek, thinks how every individual ridge will feel pushing into him. He licks at what he assumes is the slit, earning him a scratchy moan from the being hunched above him and the pleasant pulling of claws twisting in his hair.

D’jo is, to say the least, big. Proportionate for his species, Newt is sure, but large compared to Newt, himself, compared to most humanoids. Newt has had bigger, but not by very much, and his jaw aches when he opens his mouth to take him in. He hollows out his cheeks, sucks a little, before pulling his head back enough to drag his tongue over the odd shape and defined ridges. There is something bitter on his tongue - precome, most likely, if the briney taste is anything to judge by - and he groans around the bulk in his mouth. D’jo hisses above him and his hips buck forward, shoving the tip of his cock towards the back of Newt’s throat. He only gags a little, unfazed, and bobs his head eagerly. Newt is hard already, almost painfully so, the sensitive tip of his flushed cock grazing his stomach with every movement and sending prickles up his spine. D’jo grabs a handful of his hair, pushes him down further, and he moans around him. Newt can feel the spit collecting in his mouth, dribbling down his chin. D’jo inhales sharply, sucking air through his teeth.

There is another, more unexpected sensation then- something long and wet dragging down his back, and he thinks it must be J’aaq’s tongue that probes gently at his hole, licks over it once and makes him shriek around D’jo’s cock. He slips one hand between his legs to palm himself, rolls his hips into his own fingers. The tongue swipes across his hole again, and he pulls off D’jo with an obscene, wet  _ pop _ to whimper plaintively. Newt gives himself a squeeze, a slow tug that does little to relieve him.

“Fuck,” he manages to groan, though beneath the careful attention of J’aaq’s tongue, his bones are starting to feel a lot more like wet noodles than anything else. His voice is hoarse, his throat bordering on sore. “Oh,  _ shit,  _ fuck me- uh, please. _ ” _

D’jo steps away from him and takes careful hold of elbow to help him shakily to unsteady feet. Newt flashes him a grateful smile, aware that his lips are likely glistening with spit and precome beneath the globe lights on the ceiling. They allow him to get comfortable on his back, pillows piled beneath his head, legs spread alluringly, before J’aaq climbs up onto the mattress to lay beside him.

“Wh-”

“Shh,” he mutters, rolling Newt gently onto his side. Apparently, neither of the two are terribly interested in talk. The bed dips behind him while J’aq arranges himself, and Newt turns his head to watch over his shoulder. He had looked bigger than D’jo from further away, but up close, Newt saw that he had been right, after all. The unfamiliar shape brushes against the back of his thigh, and Newt bites down on his lip to stifle a pleading sound. There is absolutely no way J’aq is going to fit inside him without tearing him apart, though the mere notion of giving it a try makes his cock ache painfully where it is standing stiff against his stomach and beginning to leak already. J’aaq strokes himself lazily, assessing Newt and giving his ass cheek a squeeze with his unoccupied hand. 

Newt groans and closes his eyes momentarily. Part of him hopes that J’aaq might try to squeeze into him, anyway. Before he can push himself backwards and into J’aaq’s exploring hand, he catches Newt around the waist and flips him, settling him atop his hips and pressing their rock-hard cocks together. Newt bites down on his lip and muffles a little sound of surprise. He rolls his hips down into J’aaq’s erection, moaning at the blessed feeling of much-needed friction, but J’aaq grips his hips tightly and stills him.

“Just wait,” he says, and Newt absolutely intends to follow it up with an impatient  _ “For what?”  _ when he feels the mattress sink heavily behind him. D’jo, on his knees, settles the cool, hard almost-metal of his scaled chest against Newt’s bare back. A shiver ripples through him, and he breaks out in little raised bumps of gooseflesh all over.

“ _ Oh _ , hello.”

The almost protective splay of his clawed hand against the span of Newt’s belly, firm and keeping him pressed upright, makes his heart pound wildly. Newt tips his head back against D’jo’s chest, parting his sore, reddened lips for a kiss. D’jo’s teeth graze his plump bottom lip, not enough to break the soft skin; and a cool, smooth claw drags carefully above the cleft of his ass. He whines into the kiss, shifts beneath his hands. D’jo opens his jaw further, pushes his tongue roughly past Newt’s teeth. The hand on his tense stomach dips ever lower, brushing the sensitive skin just above his erection. Newt arches his back and tries in vain to push himself up against the claw that dips between his ass cheeks and rubs teasingly at the pucker of his entrance. Newt whimpers into the wide cavern of D’jo’s mouth. D’jo breaks the kiss to laugh, the deep rumble of the sound shaking his body and reverberating through Newt.

J’aaq lifts his hips to thrust himself against Newt once, much too slow, smearing both Newt’s precome and his own (a clear, sticky substance) over them both. He whimpers, high and breaking, but does not dare move lest he scratch himself on D’jo’s careful claw. It is still sharp, still dangerous even slicked in cool lube as it is, but it does not stop D’jo from circling his entrance with the tip of it, teasing a series of feeble moams from him. He dips it into Newt’s hole, experimentally squeezing past the tight ring of muscle, and Newt’s hips buck hard against J’aaq beneath him. He moans loudly enough that whoever occupies the next room over certainly hears him through the walls, and reaches down to pull one of J’aaq’s hands up to rub over his nipples.

“ _ Yeah _ , yeah, that’s so  _ good _ ,” he manages, keening, rocking slightly against both the finger that slips further into him and the dick pressed against his own steadily leaking erection. 

“Sensitive?” He mutters, voice tipping teasingly. J’aaq twists Newt’s nipple, rolls it between his fingers, and Newt can’t stop himself any longer. He is overwhelmed in the best possible way, writhing helpless and small between the two of them. Newt thrusts his hips, grinds down hard into J’aaq and takes the remaining length of D’jo’s finger in one single motion. 

The shout that pulls scratchily from the back of Newt’s throat seems to startle J’aaq, his sharp features twisting into a look of concern, but Newt rocks back harder against the finger inside him. 

“No, no, it’s-  _ ah,  _ it’s good, it’s  _ so _ good,” he pants, hands coming to rest against J’aaq’s sturdy chest for better leverage. D’jo withdraws, suddenly, and Newt tilts his head back to stare up at him, puzzled, but the sensation of two fingers prodding him prompts a pleased sound in place of a complaint. Newt accepts them eagerly,  _ hungrily _ , even, as D’jo struggles to match the off-beat rhythm with which Newt rubs himself against J’aaq (who seems incredibly content with letting Newt do the bulk of the work, gold eyes heavy with lust).

“C’mon,” he whines, craning his head to catch D’jo’s gaze, razor-sharp mouth open and panting. “I-  _ ah _ , I want you to… Just fuck me already.”

D’jo has the nerve to  _ laugh _ , chuckling low and rumbling in his throat and angling his fingers inside Newt, just enough to draw a yelp from him but not quite enough to brush his prostate. He pulls back, agonizingly slowly, and Newt thinks perhaps in spite of it all, he might listen. Instead, a third finger enters him unceremoniously, and the little ridges between the scales rubbing against the hot, wet inside of him only drives Newt wild with thoughts of what is to follow. He moans, feels himself clench around D’jo’s probing fingers, and J’aaq tightens his vise grip on the curve of Newt’s colorful hips. D’jo spreads his fingers, curls them, scissors Newt open as he babbles and moves his hips aimlessly. It’s so good - bordering on too good, even, far too much for his misfiring synapses to handle, and his head is light with the tingle of pleasure that rockets up his spine and into every single nerve in his body. When D’jo withdraws the digits, Newt takes a moment to try to catch his breath, panting, chest heaving with exertion. He doesn’t want to come yet, doesn’t want this to be over.

J’aaq reaches up to brush Newt’s hair from the slight damp of his forehead. He bites his lip, ever the picture of prettily pouty, even beaded in sweat as he is. Whether it is the unexpected tenderness of the gesture or the way D’jo pulls his ass cheeks apart to slot the length of his erection between them that makes Newt’s cock twitch, he can't really tell. He moans heavily, tosses his head back nearly fast enough to give himself whiplash, and D’jo thrusts his hips upward. The movement drags every ridge and bump back and forth across Newt’s entrance, and his hips stutter forward involuntarily. Precome slicks him with every hard thrust until it is dripping from between his cheeks down the inked length of his thighs; and he wonders distantly through the pleasured haze of his brain if it’s maybe a sort of lubricant. He wants to jerk himself off- to do anything, really, but Newt knows that it will be over if he does.

Perhaps, he thinks, he might not mind his ship breaking down so much after all. It would be a bit more fun though, Newt thinks distantly, if either (or both of them) had some sort of tentacles - those encounters have always been his favorites. D’jo’s broad hands grab for a firmer grip on Newt’s hips. He feels small, helpless, and it excites him. When D’jo positions the tip of his cock at Newt’s hole, he thinks he might burst. As slick as it is, the odd shape of it prods him almost curiously, makes him shiver with longing. 

“Come on, come  _ on _ ,” he pleads, stilling his hips. D’jo readjusts himself behind Newt, angles his head to graze his long, pointed teeth over Newt’s frantic fluttering pulse point. He whines and moves to stroke himself, fumbling gracelessly, fighting the burning urge to fuck wildly into his fist. D’jo pushes into him at long last, stretching past the pliant ring of muscle and into Newt. He’s bigger than any toy Newt owns, and the sensation of taking him in is like fire that rockets up his spine and into his chest. He falls forward with a harsh cry, bracing himself with his hands on either side of J’aaq’s shoulders. J’aaq opens his mouth to catch Newt in as much of a kiss as he can manage without his teeth getting in the way, slides his hands up Newt’s chest and over his stooped shoulders. D’jo grips Newt’s shoulders, the tips of his claws digging in when he tugs Newt gently back onto his cock. When D’jo eases himself further into Newt, he moans filthily into J’aaq’s mouth, melts against the warm, wet feeling of his forked tongue against Newt’s; and in spite of the way that the reptilian appendage stretches him,  _ hurts _ him in the best possible way as it sinks further and further into the tight heat of his body, he works his hips furiously. 

If the people in the neighboring room somehow did not hear him before, Newt is certain that they hear him loud and clear this time. Every ridge and bump and raised scale presses into him, drags out only to slam back harder than before. His head spins, his body moves of its own accord, and every forward jerk of his hips sends fireworks shooting off behind his squeezed-shut eyes. D’jo snaps his hips, and Newt’s vision goes white around the edges. Between the thrusting length that pushes mercilessly into him, filling him though Newt knows he has not even taken  _ half _ of it, and the cock that grinds against his own, he can’t suppress the high, pitchy moans that escape his parted lips. He thinks he shouts, “Fuck- right there!” but his voice sounds far away. He comes hard and fast, twitching and stuttering and painting J’aaq’s dark, scaly chest in hot ropes of semen. He clenches around D’jo, spasming, squeezing him, and collapses heavily onto J’aaq. Neither being stops their not-quite-in-sync-but-close-enough movements as Newt lays quaking through the aftershocks, but he realizes quickly that he does not want them to.

“ _ Ooh,  _ oh- don’t stop, don’t stop,” he babbles, any semblance of a remaining verbal barrier long broken down. “You feel so-  _ God _ , that’s…” 

He rolls his hips feebly, into the steadily leaking cock that ruts roughly against him. Newt intends to moan, to encourage them, but overstimulation twists his words into a little sob as a second orgasm is wrung greedily from him. It is all he can do to lay there, panting and spent. D’jo slams into him one final time and finishes with a sound like a hiss. Newt only registers that J’aaq comes when he feels a hot splash across his chest and stomach, feels J’aaq twitch and begin to soften beneath him. D’jo pulls out gingerly and Newt turns his head feebly to watch. He catches a brief glimpse of D’jo’s softening erection trailing a sticky string of semen. Newt manages a weak groan, feeling suddenly rather empty. The reptilian rests heavily at Newt’s side, breathing hard. The three of them have made quite the mess. He really should clean up - come drips from his loose hole down his legs and onto the hotel sheets, and he feels it pressed between he and J’aaq, splattered over his chest and stomach when he shifts to lie exhausted on his back - but for now, Newt is content to lay in a tangle of tired, satisfied limbs. 

He is most definitely going to be sore in the morning.


End file.
